The Drouble Project
by stupidpenname
Summary: Hopefully 100 droubles about life in a big pink house
1. Beginnings

A/N: I can't finnish a FF to save my life. So to try and get into practice I'm am going to attempt to write a series of droubles based on the Fanart100 project years ago. Feel free to write your own. I haven't seen the pilot so If I make mistakes just consider it to be a case of AU. Also it says this is exactly 200 words on my PC so I don't care that the archive says otherwise, damnit. Hope you enjoy. ;-)

* * *

Beginnings

'Well?' Mitchell threw his arms wide in a grand sweep. 'What do you think?'

George stood and looked at the building, his arms wrapped around his waist, his head on a slight tilt.

'It's er…' George licked his lips. 'It's… very…'

Mitchell slumped 'You don't like it.'

'No!' George said quickly. 'No no no no no no no. I never said...no. It's just…'

'What.'

'It's pink.'

A tiny smile pinned up the corners of Mitchell's mouth.

'Yeah, So?'

'I mean _really_ _really _pink.'

'So?'

'If a flamingo had a torrent love affair with a stick of fairy-floss _this_ building would be their forbidden love child.'

Mitchell looked back at the building. George spoke the truth. It was undeniably pink.

'I like it.' he said with a nod. 'It's unique, like us.'

'I thought the point of this was us trying to be normal.' said George.

'Can't you be unique and normal?' asked Mitchell.

'No. In fact I think they are complete opposites. When I ask myself "What's the antonym for unique?" I think "normal".'

'Well it's either this entire pink house, or that two bedroom flat that smelt like goat.'

George thought for a second. 'I like it.'


	2. Middles

Middles

Mitchell looked George straight in the eye. 'You have to do it. You have to.'  
George stepped back. 'What? No Mitchell, no. I can't do it! Not again.'  
'You don't have a choice, mate. You're the reason were in this situation in the first place...' Mitchell scrunched his eyes shut. He regretted the words as soon as he said them. George crossed his arms.  
'So that's it then. I'm to be held accountable for the things it does when it's a full moon; things I have no control over whatsoever.'  
'George, I'm not saying that.'  
'Yes. Yes, you are Mitchell. You think that this mess is all my fault even though it was entirely your idea.'  
'You agreed to it too!'  
Annie smacked her hands together. 'Boys!'  
Both George and Mitchell turned to her. 'For goodness sake, I'll sit in the middle.'  
George shook his head. 'Annie. You don't have to...'  
Annie swept past him and sat in the hard wooden centre of the cushion-less lounge. The two boys looked at each other before sitting on the sagging fabric either side.

'When are we getting a new lounge?' Annie asked after a few minutes.

'Wednesday.'

'Good.'


	3. Ends

The old man stared at the hospital wall. Why were hospitals always painted in pastels? Powder blue. Duckling yellow. Lime/Mucus green. It was probably an attempt to make the place look light and cheerful, but instead it highlighted what a dingy building the hospital was. Although he had to admit he didn't mind the pink too much. It made him feel nostalgic.  
The man turned over and felt around on his bed side table for his glasses. His hand couldn't find them. He sat up, confused.  
'You wouldn't be looking for these, would you?'  
Someone slid the glasses into his fingers. The old man pushed them onto his face and smiled. 'It's not fair to steal an old man's glasses, Mitchell.'  
'You wouldn't be an old man if you had just taken up his offer.' Annie leant against the doorframe of his room.  
'Now, Annie, it was George's choice.'  
George looked at his friends. They were young. Beautiful. Frozen.  
He knew he had made the right decision.  
Annie looked at her feet. 'How long have you got?'  
George shrugged. ''bout a week. With luck.'  
Annie sniffed. Her eyes glistened. 'Okay... how do you feel about being pushed down some stairs?'


	4. Insides

Insides

George woke up to the taste of dirt and gizzards. It was an all too familiar once-in-a full-moon sort of taste. At least It was gone.

George sat up and quickly wished he hadn't. His skull felt as though it had ballooned to twice its size and then shrunk again. Gee, he thought, I wonder why.  
It was then he realised that he had something in his hand. George pulled the object up to his face and squinted at it. Without his glasses was hard for his sluggish post-wolf brain to comprehend exactly what it was. Then it twigged; a dog collar. It said "Miffy."  
George turned his head. Lying beside him was a dog.  
Or it had been a dog, before something had turned it inside out.  
'Oh shi...'

...

Annie's eyes widened 'You ate a puppy?'  
George's gut churned 'Not a puppy. A Dog. A full grown, very much adultdog that probably led a very long and happy life.'  
'Yeah… until you shredded it.'  
'What are you going to do?' asked Mitchell, as he forced down a smile.  
'I dunno.' George rubbed his eyebrow with his wrist. 'Do you know where the closest pound is?'


	5. Outsides

AN: Hello again. I would love to give a big shout out to Kyrial Halcoryn who beta read not only this section but al of my prior and upcoming chapters! Go check out her stuff, she is very good.

* * *

Outsides

The street seemed wider than Annie remembered. She half expected a tumbleweed to roll across in front of her.  
'I'm not sure about this.'  
Mitchell grabbed Annie's shoulder so she didn't try and make a bolt for it.  
'You're doing fine, Annie. You're doing great.'  
George beckoned her forward. 'Just keep looking at me, Annie. Don't over-think it. You used to do this all the time when you were alive, didn't you?'  
It was Mitchell's idea – Just because you're dead it doesn't mean you shouldn't have a life - but George seemed the keenest to get her out of the house. In fact when Mitchell mentioned the plan, George may have given an excited squeak.  
'Keep moving. That's it. And... There! Look where you are, Annie.'  
Annie did. She was standing at the corner at the end of her street. She hadn't been there since the day before she fell down the stairs. She had just gone to the corner shop to get some milk. That simple act was almost unthinkable now. But as Annie looked up the street and saw the pink house way up the other end, she couldn't help but burst out laughing.


	6. Hours

A/N: Sorry about this. Spoiler warning! Major Spolier waring! End of first season spoiler warning. Please stand clear!

* * *

Hours

As he hurried down the drizzly street Mitchell looked at his watch. They only had a few hours.  
The day had been eye-blurringly normal, up until the note had been slipped under the door. George and Annie had been busy arguing about leaving underwear in the bathroom – "It's disgusting, George!" "You don't even use the bathroom." "Oh, that's your excuse for everything." – so Mitchell went to get the mail.  
The note lay there alone.  
Even before he unfolded Mitchell knew he was going to hate what it said.  
'I know what you are.'  
George had tried to convince him that it was one of the neighbours still riled up about the 'pedo' incident. Mitch had doubted it. It had been months. Why start up again now?

And anyway the note said "what". Not "who".

Who could possibly know? Herrick was dead. Owen was locked away. Tully? No. That would mean risking himself too.  
Maybe he was overreacting. But once you get a stake through the chest, you're reluctant to take chances.  
All that mattered was getting out of Bristol. George would talk to Nina. Annie would pack. He would book the flights.  
They would leave tonight.


	7. Days

George walked into the kitchen to find Mitchell at the table scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. The vampire's eyes rolled towards the ceiling as the cogs ticked over and then he lunged at the page jolting down the details before they escaped.  
'Writing your novel, Mitch?'  
Mitchell didn't look up. 'I'm doing maths.'  
'Really? What for?' George sipped his juice.  
'Just trying to work out how much time you actually spend as a werewolf.'  
George spluttered said juice.  
Mitchell continued. 'When you think about it, it's not that much. You turn into a wolf once every month, right, so that's twelve times a year.'  
'Oh, is that all?'  
'Listen to me George, hear me out. Let's say you live into your eighties, you're in your mid twenties, so that's… sixty years of transformations.'  
George's mind flipped over itself. Sixty more years!  
'So twelve transformations times sixty years equals... seven hundred and twenty days as a werewolf.'  
'Seven hundred...'  
'But you don't spend a whole day as a werewolf, do you? It's only from moon up 'til moon down. So we cut that in half and we get three hundred and sixty days.' said Mitchell in triumph.

'Three hundred and sixty days?' George stuttered. 'That's almost an entire year!'  
Mitchell paused. 'Oh… yeah. That's a lot, isn't it?'


	8. Week

A/N: Yes yes. I am a horrible person and I'm going to the special hell. I graduate this week, okay. Life got out of hand. Anyway I realise this is a poultry offering, but nevertheless enjoy some mild holiday fluff. Also _Indianna_ is abook by Aurore Lucile Dupin, who is you look up on wikipedia has an interesting penname...

* * *

George practically pulled Annie's door off its hinges as he burst in.

'What the hell do you think you're doing using my credit cards!?' A little fleck of spit flew across the room. Annie unfurled herself from her giant arm-chair.

'What?

'I don't... I mean nicking my phone was bad enough, okay, but this? Where do you get off?'

Annie stood. 'You're mental. You can't just charge into my room and start accusing me...'

'Are you saying you're not Ninja_Princess_Annie_85 on e-bay then?'

George didn't dwell on the irony as the ghost blanched.

'Look, George, please don't be mad. It's not like it looks like.'

'Why do you want half this stuff anyway?' George pulled out a list. 'Dividing Ireland: World War One and Partition by T. Hennessey. Special edition Casablanca. Sunglasses? Mitchell would be more interested in this stuff than...' George stopped. Annie brushed some dust from the arm of her couch. Neither of them paid any attention as Mitchell walked through the door.

'Guys? Did either of you know why a Menorah and a book called _Indiana_ just came for me in the post?'

Annie gave a nervous laugh. 'Well...Christmas is only a few weeks away...'


	9. Red

A/N: Yes I'm an aweful person but here's the thing. I'm Australian. I know that doesn't sound like a good excuse for not updating but hear me out. I really don't want these draubles to be too AU and I want to keep the character depictions as current as possible. But here's the kicker- while you've all been enjoying season two of Being Human I haven't heard squat about when it's comming back in this country. Google is completely silent. Hell down this side of the equator David Tennant hasn't even regenerated yet! That's how far behind we are in terms of TV. So until I can find some way of seeing the second season without blowing out our download limit with youtube, I am sorry to say I am on hiatus. Yes I know it sucks but I really don't want to stab blindly at senarios when they are either going to be completely wrong or close but slightly off. I think this one will be safe but you never can tell. So for now (hopefully not forever) I'm saying goodbye and watch Being Human in the schadenfreuden knowledge that you can watch it and I can't. :-(

* * *

Red

Time doesn't really matter if you're dead. The longer Annie had been a ghost the more and more she felt disconnected from the world- the arbitrary way living people measured the space between events seemed irrelevant. Maybe that was the reason Annie didn't know how long she stood looking at the stain on Mitchell's shirt. What the dark burgundy smear on Mitchell's collar was wasn't the question. Annie knew all too well what it was. The question was how did it get there? Whose was it? Should she tell George? Did George already know and decide to keep this from her? Is this the reason why Mitchell didn't want her to do his laundry? The question was quickly becoming the questions and Annie felt like she was choking on them.

That night at the dinner table it was all Annie could do to sit and watch Mitchell eat. He talked as though nothing was going on. No, that wasn't true. He talk like a million insignificant things were going on and none of them involved that shirt, that stain, or anything remotely relevant. That night Annie realised how little she knew about the vampire in her house.


	10. Years

A/N: Hey everybody. No I'm not back. This is a piece that just needed to be written and held my muse hostage. Anywho it's probably AU by now and there is still no sign of Being Human coming back to Australia (to the lovely reviewer who suggested TV Shack or another similar site, thanks for the offer but my parents would kill me for blowing our download limit). Just consider this a brief revisit. Also this is way over the limit. Think of it as compensation for the long hiatus.

* * *

Years.

1917

Sometimes Mitchell looked back and wondered what would have happened if he hadn't stumbled across Herrick at that feeding ground.

1929

Mitchell opened the paper to find the leading story was the Saint Valentine's Day massacre. It gave him a wonderful idea.

1936

The day Edward stepped down Herrick took Mitchell aside and whispered in his ear 'One day, when I step down, you will be King.'

1942

Mitchell struggled to suppress a laugh. 'Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine'? Who wrote that stuff?

1964

Shirley was the first human Mitchell ever let live to tell. Josie was the second. But unlike Shirley, Josie came back.

1977

Mitchell rode through London on a silver double-decker bus. Herrick still reigned. And Mitchell wasn't sure he wanted the crown anymore.

1981

Mitchell didn't realise it at the time, but this year would change his life forever. This was the year George was born. Four years later Annie would complete the trio.

1990

The news called it Battle of Trafalgar. Mitchell scoffed at the suggestion. He knew what a real battle was. However in the anarchy were opportunities waiting to be taken.

2001

When he had seen Space Oddessy, Mitchell had been sure that humanity would be flying to Jupiter by now. Not into buildings. Life didn't matter to humans, why should it matter to him?

2008

Sometimes Mitchell looked back and wondered what would have happened if he hadn't stumbled across George in that alleyway.


	11. Orange

A/N: Someone wise once said "If the mountain won't come to Muhammad, Muhammad must go to the mountain." Or to put it another way. If the Australian Broadcasting Corperation won't show season two of Being Human than you have to order it over amazon. It still hasn't arrived but the rainclouds are gathering and the drought will soon break.

In the meantime I have another doubble that is probably not in spoiler teritory. Slight M/A pairing. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Orange.

Mitchell and George continued to stare out the window as the figure retreated into the darkness.

Mitchell took a breath and tried to say something eloquent. 'Wow.'

'Yeah.'

'I mean... wow.'

'I know.'

'How is that even physically possible?'

'I have no idea and I have a feeling I don't want to.'

'I thought you were exaggerating?'

'Why'd you think that?'

'You exaggerate all the time, George. You're the great exaggerator.'

'What? I do not. When do I exaggerate? I've never exaggerated anything in my entire life...'

'That Oompa Loompa is Owen's new girlfriend?'

'Yep. The infamous Janie Harris.'

'He took a step down from Annie didn't he?'

George gave Mitchell a scathing look. 'That's pretty harsh, Mitchell.'

'But true.'

'Totally true, but there was no need to say it. Makes you sound... ungentlemanly.'

Mitchell laughed 'Ungentlemanly? Zounds! Forsooth!'

George cracked a smile. Mitchell stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

'All I'm saying is if it was a choice between her and Annie, I know who I'd pick.'

George couldn't hide a small smirk. He knew who Mitchell would choose and it had nothing to do with Janie Harris' cheeto impression.


	12. Yellow

A/N: The ABC is run by jerks, wankers and whores.

The day, the VERY NEXT DAY, after I recieved my copy of season two from amazon guess which British supernatural/horror program is going to be gracing our screens? After months without the slighest mention of the program coming back, it's NOW they decided to pull Being Human out of their secret room of things I want to see and put it back on television! I hate them with the fire of a thousand suns.

So in other news, we are back on the air, people. Only seen episode one so far (holy crap is it dark! What happened to George? When did he become so confident and egotistical! I want Low-Self-Esteem George back! And now I have nightmares about werewolfs in decompression chambers and... well I think I should wait before speculating) and I can't wait to see more.

Anyway on with the show.

* * *

Yellow

Annie paced up and down in front of the door. Mitchell said he would be there in ten minutes and it had only been five. Already it was too long.

She didn't know what had gone wrong. When George came home that afternoon he hadn't paid the slightest attention to Annie as she rambled about _Neighbours _and how they had almost run out of tea bags. He had just walked up the stairs, walked into his bedroom and closed the door. Annie had figured that maybe he was just tired or something. But then she heard the noise.

The front door opened and slammed shut again 'How is he?' asked Mitchell, taking off his coat.

Annie sighed 'Bad. Very very bad.'

'Thank you, Annie, for that detailed analysis. _How_ bad? Alanis Morissette bad? Linkin Park bad?'

Annie didn't need to answer. The sound wafted downstairs:

"_Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you..."_

Annie could tell Mitchell was on the verge of running straight out that door again.

'Oh no you don't! One of us has to deal with this. Ready?'

Mitchell clenched his jaw. 'Ready.'

They both breathed in and chanted in unison.

'Sissors, paper, rock!'


End file.
